The Smell of Disaster
by Fear-Of-The-Cold
Summary: The residents of Stalag 13 must act quickly to prevent a possible disaster. But will they get there in time? Written for Short Story Speedwriting Contest 2014.


_Note: Written for the 2014 Short Story Speedwriting Competition. Credit for the first lines of each segment goes to, in order: Oboecrazy (Love Sprung from Hate), Nina Stephens (Ursa Minor), ML Miller Breedlove (A Tisket A Tasket), wordybirds (A Brother's Keeper), and Atarah Derek (The Hogan's Heroes Duck Shoot)._

The smell struck Sergeant Andrew Carter so suddenly that he came to a halt in the middle of the woods. It was a familiar scent, but he could not immediately place it. He stood alone in the woods, sniffing at the air. What was it?

He knew he shouldn't stay long in the woods by himself. Not even a mile from camp, he was expected back any minute and didn't want to ruin the mission by being caught so close to home. Nevertheless, he stayed rooted to the spot, fixated on this strange scent. He recognized it, but could not place the source, although it seemed to invoke memories of…what was it? Anxiety? Fear maybe? And maybe a little bit of something that made him think of the ocean…

All at once, Carter remembered where he had smelled this scent before. The color drained from his face as he realized the implications of this discovery. With that in mind, his formerly rooted down feet took flight as he began running full speed back to camp.

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Her legs twitched, as she lay sleeping on her side. One arm lay across her body, the other fell at her side off the couch where she had fallen asleep. Hilda was a vision of beauty, even in slumber. Her blonde hair, normally so perfectly braided, was ever so slightly askew, no doubt a result of turning in her sleep against the rough couch cushions.

Lying next to the dozing secretary was what appeared to be a series of documents that had fallen from her grasp. They were spread haphazardly, but the letterhead they were printed on marked them out as very important.

Hilda rolled over slightly to lie on her back, the last of the papers falling to the floor as she did so. She sniffed in her sleep, and suddenly her eyes opened, face scrunched up in distaste.

"What the…" she said sleepily as she tried to gain her bearings.

Her eyes opened wider as she realized that she was sleeping on the couch in Klink's quarters. She sat bolt upright, remembering how she had only meant to lie down for a moment, she was meant to be back at her desk ages ago…

As she bent down to hurriedly gather up her papers, she sniffed again, trying to remove the sleep from her eyes. This action made her pause in her gathering, for she had just realized what had caused her to waken so suddenly.

A familiar smell drifted into Klink's quarters and filled her with dread. She knew that smell and, more importantly, she knew what it meant. The papers slipped from her fingers once more as she leapt to her feet, all else forgotten as she ran for the door.

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"Sixteen dozen eggs!" exclaimed the farmer in shock, "But Sergeant, what can you possibly want with sixteen dozen eggs all to yourself?"

Klink rolled his eyes as he supervised the exchange between Sergeant Schultz and the visiting farmer who had come to Stalag 13 to sell his wares. Couldn't the farmer tell what Schultz would do with the eggs just from looking at him? Sixteen dozen eggs would scarcely last a week with the portly Sergeant.

"Hurry up Schultz," Klink scolded, "This man has better things to do than supply your appetite. He still has to stock my kitchen!"

"Of course, Herr Colonel," Schultz nodded, gathering up his cartons of eggs, precariously one atop another in his arms.

Shaking his head, Klink strode up the farmer.

"Here," he said briskly, "Is my list of requirements. I trust that you can fill it, in spite of Sergeant Schultz's apparent infatuation with eggs."

The farmer glanced over the list, taking note of everything quickly before nodding.

"Ja, Herr Colonel, there should be no problem."

But Klink made no response, for both he and Schultz had suddenly frozen on the spot.

"Herr Colonel?" the farmer said, looking worriedly at the men who appeared to have gone into shock.

Schultz was the first to recover, but he was visibly shaking as he spoke.

"Herr Colonel, that smell…is it…is it what I think it is?"

"Yes," Klink said, nearly whispering, "God help us yes."

Schultz dropped all sixteen cartons of eggs.

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"What seems to be the problem Colonel?" Kinch asked his commanding officer, who had been pacing the tunnel.

Colonel Hogan frowned, but continued to pace.

"Carter should be back," he replied, and Kinch could hear the stress in the Colonel's voice.

"He's only a few minutes late," Kinch said patiently, though inside he felt anything but. It always fell to him to reassure the others. Once, just once, couldn't he be the one who worried aloud and was comforted by others?

Hogan paused his determined pace for a moment and sighed before taking a seat next to Kinch at the radio set.

"Sorry Kinch. You're right, there's no reason to be worried quite yet."

A noise sounded at the tunnel exit. Both men's heads jerked upwards and Kinch smiled at Hogan.

"That must be Carter," Kinch said as he prepared to radio confirmation to London that Carter had picked up the package.

Hogan nodded, but frowned when he then heard the sound of running footsteps coming towards them. Kinch picked up on it to, and both men pulled out their weapons. Why would Carter be in such a hurry to get through the tunnel, unless…

Before either man had a chance to do anything more, Carter came tearing around the corner and skidded to a halt in front of them, breathing heavily. He was alone, but looked as though he had run the last several miles at a dead sprint.

"What happened Carter?" Hogan asked brusquely. If the operation had been compromised, they would have to move fast.

Still out of breath, Carter's head swung back and forth as he looked wide-eyed back and forth between the two men, as though he could not understand why the two men did not understand his panic.

"Can't you smell it?" the panting Sergeant managed to spit out between breaths.

"Smell what?" Kinch asked, perplexed.

"Carter I don't smell anythi-"

Hogan cut off as he realized that he did indeed smell something. And all at once he realized why Carter had ran back in such a panic. It was a smell that brought back memories that made Hogan cringe just to think of them. He looked in horror at Kinch, and knew by the Sergeant's face that the smell had also reached him.

"We have to stop them," Kinch said seriously, "Before it's too late."

Hogan and Carter nodded once before they ran to the tunnel ladder that led to the barracks.

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"Try this Newkirk."

Peter Newkirk sniffed suspiciously at the dish LeBeau was offering him. The little Frenchman had been slaving at the barracks stove all evening, but this won him little sympathy with his chosen taste tester.

"I don't know Louis," Newkirk sighed, "We've been through this."

LeBeau waved off his protest with his free hand, the other still holding the plate as near to Newkirk's face as possible.

"Ah but this time even you could not dislike such a dish!" LeBeau exclaimed. He waved his hand towards Newkirk, trying to waft the smell towards him. By this time, the determined Frenchman was nose to nose with Newkirk, intent on having him eat, one way or another.

"Alright, alright!" Newkirk said, raising his hands in submission before using them to gently push LeBeau back to a more normal distance, "I'll try it. But on your own head be it."

LeBeau grinned with satisfaction as Newkirk finally cut into what appeared to be a generous helping of fish and chips. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation as Newkirk raised the fork to his mouth.

But before Newkirk's first bite could even touch his lips, several things happened at once.

The trap door to the tunnel entrance sprang open with a shuddering bang, and Colonel Hogan, Kinch and Carter stumbled out one after the other, tripping over each other in their obvious panic. Before they could speak however, the barracks door shot open as well, and a wide eyed Klink ran in, followed closely by Schultz, who was having difficulty breathing. For a moment, everyone stared at each other as though unable to put into words the reason that had brought them all here in such a panic. That is until a dishevelled and sleepy Hilda burst through the door.

"Don't do it LeBeau!" she cried.

Hilda's panicked outcry woke the others from their momentary shock. All at once they crowded around the two perplexed corporals, each desperately trying to keep the fish away from Newkirk's mouth.

"I order you to step away from the plate corporal!" Klink blustered in his most commanding tone possible, "This instant!"

Schultz meanwhile had latched onto LeBeau's arm as he begged him to take the fish away.

"Please LeBeau," Schultz whimpered, "We cannot survive this again, I cannot go without strudel, I mean, you cannot wish to end up in the cooler again…"

Although LeBeau attempted to throw off the portly guard, he found that Kinch was holding onto his other arm.

"Now LeBeau," Kinch said in what was obviously a forced attempt to seem reasonable, "I know you want to prove that you can cook anything, but we all remember what happened last time, and I just don't think we are prepared to go through that again. Nobody in the barracks got a moment of peace from you two for weeks!"

Meanwhile Newkirk was being accosted by Hogan and Carter, who, in an effort to pull Newkirk's hand farther away from his mouth, had accidentally placed the English corporal in a slightly strangling headlock.

"It's for your own good Newkirk," Carter said apologetically as Newkirk choked and spluttered.

"Carter, you can loosen your grip a little I think," Colonel Hogan said, then added quickly, "But under no circumstances are you to let him go."

When Newkirk could breathe again, he gave Carter a look that promised retribution later.

"What the bloody hell is going on?"

"Corporal Newkirk," Hogan said in his best commanding officer voice, "I am giving you a direct order that you are not to eat any of that fish and chips!"

"What, this?" Newkirk scoffed as he quickly snatched up a piece of fish, evading Carter's outstretched arm trying to pull him back, and popped it in his mouth.

"NO!" cried every other person in the barracks except LeBeau, who finally broke away from Kinch and Schultz and looked at Newkirk with serious concern in his eyes.

"Well?" the French corporal asked nervously as Newkirk chewed thoughtfully.

The others waited with baited breath to hear the inevitable bickering begin. Which is why Hilda nearly fainted when Newkirk finally spoke.

"Y'know Louis, it's actually not that bad."

It took a moment for the group to process that the impending apocalypse had, in fact, been averted. To prove his point, Newkirk even took a second bite. The relief that washed over the others was palpable.

Hilda was the first to slip away, embarrassed by her panicked reaction and also remembering the papers she had left scattered in Klink's quarters. Klink and Schultz followed her lead, Klink dressing Schultz down for overreacting as they left.

"Well LeBeau, I'm impressed," Hogan said, "You really must be the best chef in Paris if you can impress this tough critic."

"Merci Colonel," LeBeau replied, grinning, "I am so glad you liked it Pierre! There are more fish in Klink's stores, I will go fetch them and make dinner for everyone."

Newkirk nodded enthusiastically as LeBeau ran excitedly out the door.

"Now that we don't have to worry about those two tearing the barracks down around them," Hogan said sarcastically, "Carter, let's go back downstairs and get you cleaned up from the mission. You're lucky Klink and Schultz were so out of it they never noticed you're still in blacks."

As the two of them left, Kinch sat down across from Newkirk. He was not as easily fooled.

"That was a pretty good acting job," Kinch said wryly, "I'll admit, you had me fooled for a minute."

The desperate, puppy dog look that came over Newkirk's face was enough to make Kinch break out in laughter.

"Kinch," Newkirk said with the despair of a man who just been told he had weeks to live, "I'm going to be eating a Frenchman's fish and chips for the rest of my life aren't I?"

Kinch glanced out the window to see LeBeau returning, arms stacked full with packages that were no doubt full of fish.

"Well Newkirk," Kinch said with a cheeky grin, "It's not like we didn't try to stop you."

Newkirk groaned. This was going to be a long war.


End file.
